My sad and trivial night with Rock Hudson

My sad and trivial night with Rock Hudson

Perhaps it is the passing of Elizabeth Taylor, and her connection to Rock Hudson, that brings this memory back again. Maybe I want you to know, because I’m still as star-struck and vain as when this happened. Or maybe the memory still brings back fear and melancholy, so repeating it here feels like sharing my favorite ghost story…

Over and over, footage of Rock Hudson standing next to Doris Day was playing on television, and he looked ghastly. His skin was wrinkled and sunken as if by very old age. It was 1985, and it was one of the last close-up images most of us would ever see of the movie icon. And it was terrifying.

My heart was pounding, and I tried to listen to the voice-over, which spoke of the sudden illness of Rock Hudson and speculation that he might have AIDS. Throughout the newscast, memories of a night in 1982, nearly three years earlier, sprang to life. The images taunted me and screamed at me and said gonna getcha gonna getcha gonna getcha …

Charley and I had recently moved to Los Angeles and the city still held such mystery and promise for us. We were excited about spending our anniversary at the gay restaurant New York Company, where you got a candle on your table and mushrooms on your prime rib and they would probably sing to us or bring a special piece of cake.

No sooner had we settled at our table and ordered drinks than Charley started nudging my arm and staring at something behind me. I glanced in that direction, and was stunned to find Rock Hudson seated there, talking with another man.

In our short time in Los Angeles, I had developed the attitude that famous people deserved their privacy and one shouldn’t ogle them. I thought it was cool not to care they were there, even though I was dying to look. In any case, Charley was staring across our table in a gay restaurant directly at Rock Hudson and I wanted him to stop right this minute.

I was definitely jealous, not only of being upstaged by a movie star at my anniversary dinner, but because I wanted to look at him so badly myself, and Charley had the perfect view. So I pestered poor Charley for the next ten minutes about how rude he was and how I couldn’t believe he found the man so fascinating and why couldn’t he pay attention to me on this special night and all sorts of other such lies.

“You men having any fun?”

There was no mistaking the voice, and I looked up from my pouting stance to Charley, who was grinning across our table at the man behind me. “Sure,” Charley managed to say. I turned around and Rock Hudson was smiling at me. I was a star struck boy and there was no hiding it now.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. How completely embarrassing.

“You sure?” he asked, “Because my friend and I were just discussing it, and I was saying that the two of you were having a fight.”

Rock Hudson was discussing me. Rock Hudson was discussing me.

“Uh no, not at all,” I lied, jumping in before Charley had a chance to say what a bitch I was and how I thought you shouldn’t ogle movie stars. “I think we’re just kinda tired. As a matter of fact, today is our anniversary and we’re celebrating.”

“Yeah,” said Charley, “we’re doing fine. How are you tonight?” He was playing along, had forgiven me, and was asking Rock Hudson a question. This was unbelievable.

“It’s really wonderful that you two are having an anniversary. How long have you been together?”

“Three years,” we said in unison.

“That’s just great. Congratulations.” At this point he introduced his friend, who went “way back” and who’s name I couldn’t tell you in a million years, and then he offered an invitation. “Come sit with us, boys. Have a drink. It’s a special occasion.”

I looked at Charley, holding on to my “protect their privacy” stance for a few more seconds, but he had already risen to join them. What the hell. Like I would have refused. I took my spot beside Rock Hudson because I would have broken Charley’s arm if he had tried that seat and he knew it. Another round of drinks appeared, and the star launched into clever stories that I don’t quite remember but were more than fascinating at the time.

The conversation wandered onto Trivial Pursuit, the game which was then new and all the rage.

“Yes, I’ve heard of that,” Rock said. “I haven’t played it yet.”

“We’ve got the game, Rock,” Charley said. “You should really come over some time and we’ll play it with you.” I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He actually called Mr. Rock Hudson “Rock.” Furthermore, my partner had just invited this man “over some time,” like that was really in the realm of possibility.

More drinks arrived. This man can drink like a cow, I thought, and not even show it. He was playful, though, and shot a few looks my way that I would have taken quite differently if it weren’t clear I was celebrating my anniversary with the man to my immediate left.

“It’s a great game,” I found myself saying. “You wanna come over and play it with us?” I was a teensy bit smashed, no doubt about it.

“Yes, I would.”

I’m sure there was more to it, more of a rationale as to why he felt comfortable crashing our anniversary evening, but I don’t remember. His friend kindly begged off of the event, and it was decided that Charley would take his friend home while I rode with Rock so he had no problem finding our apartment. I still will never believe he parked his classy import on Edgewood Avenue, because it made me nervous parking my car there. Once inside, I found a full bottle of Scotch, poured him a drink, and gave him a tour of our tiny apartment until Charley got back.

I was no fool. What we had here was a prescription for somethingâ€¦ unseemly. But I was barreling through these bizarre circumstances and wasn’t weighing the specific possibilities. That’s a lie. I was pursuing it because I suspected what was to come.

We played the game for a couple of hours, Rock winning and drinking. Before it was over the Scotch would be history and I would offer to roll a joint. “Pot makes me horny,” he said, “so I don’t know if I shouldâ€¦” and of course I was passing him the joint faster than you could say Star Fucker.

He talked about movies. And sex. And people he loved and hated. The juiciest tales began with “I was really drunk one night when” and the meanest had to do with people he thought had treated him badly professionally (“You need Julie Andrews like you need a knife in your back,” said he).

Charley had taken it all in, but knew when enough was enough. He excused himself quite late to go to bed, Rock offered to go, I wouldn’t hear of it, and we continued sitting in the dining room passing the joint.

I knew what was being played out. Questions floated about in the back balcony of my head, just within earshot. What kind of guy was I? Was I going to have sex with this man right here in the living room? What about my anniversary? What about the man I loved asleep in the bedroom? Was Rock Hudson as well hung as everyone said? Some questions got my attention more than others.

Rock made motions for the umpteenth time that it was time to go home, so while he whispered another insincere goodnight, I drunkenly opened the pants of Mr. Rock Hudson. The fact that this was a famous escapade had overruled the anniversary etiquette issues.

Thirty minutes or so later, I stood in my robe outside the bathroom, wondering what Rock Hudson thought about the rust stained bathtub in which he was quickly showering. The sex had been in near dark, and without the pretext of romance â€” no tender caresses or meaningful glances.

I can remember only one direct look from the man. I stared down upon his face after the exhaustion of labored sex â€” too much bourbon, too much pot â€” and my eyes tried adjusting to his face in the dark. And then there it was, staring back at me, with a surprisingly impatient look. Stern and almost elderly.

“Are you done?” he asked blankly.

Well, life ain’t the damned movies, I suppose.

I would make small talk with him as he toweled dry and dressed, and then me, in a final act of staking my claim, asking for his autograph. Yes, so help me, I asked the damp, drunk and spent star to scribble “All my best, Rock Hudson” on a piece of notebook paper before his hasty exit down the duplex stairs and out to the dingy street below.

I watched the car pull away and walked slowly back to the bedroom, where Charley was sound asleep and snoring. I laid down in the dark and the night replayed in my mind. Was I triumphant? Excited, thrilled, guilty? I had just bedded the ultimate male screen icon of a generation, and I hadn’t the slightest idea how to feel about it.

Rock Hudson was now a ghastly figure on a television screen in my living room. My heart raced every time the evening news began and some new tidbit of information about his disease, his sex life, his kiss with Linda Evans on “Dynasty,” his lovers and his drug treatments were reported with morbid tones and oh-my-God urgency.

I had not yet been tested for HIV. In 1985, what was the point? There were no known effective treatments, the first drug treatment, AZT, was just being introduced and people with AIDS were dropping like flies. It was politically incorrect to get tested because it could lead to discrimination, brand you as terminal and assure you that every pathetic image of a dying AIDS patient applied directly to you.

And that is exactly what the Rock Hudson coverage was doing to me, test or no test. Magazines and Dan Rather news stories were talking to me specifically. ROCK HUDSON HAS AIDS, the headlines screamed, AND MARK KING WILL DIE AS WELL.

“Rock Hudson is now resting in his Los Angeles home beyond a doctors care,” reported Mary Hart on Entertainment Tonight, “and Mark, you’re an idiot if you think you can escape this now. You’re dead as a door nail, buddy. What were you thinking?”

I would stare at the coverage without a word, and nod my head at parties when someone said how tragic it was and excuse myself.

My parents had been told the censored version of the anniversary night story that very next day, and called me in Los Angeles shortly after Rock was reported ill. “Why not go down to the hospital?” my father asked. “You could try to cheer him up, maybe bring Trivial Pursuit!” I explained the man had a million fans and wouldn’t remember me, without mentioning how trivial the pursuit had been.

In October of 1985, Rock Hudson died in his home. News reports tortured me for months to come.

Who knew that Ft. Walton Beach, Florida had one of the best conferences in the nation for those living with HIV? I know, at least I do now. I was honored to present at the Positive Living conference last month and would recommend it to anyone — well organized, a large group of people living with HIV, and an impressive set of speakers, including Paul Kawata, Sean Strub, Robert Breining and many others.

18 Comments

Beau August
March 29, 2011 at 11:55 am

Hey Mark, thank you for your words and your personal story. You touch many people in our commiunity and outside of it. Be well, and I hope to see you on the Seas’ with Paul, for the cruises that I have met you on. Be well, Beau August

Roy
March 29, 2011 at 12:04 pm

It’s no stain on a blue dress, but hey, you got his autograph! I don’t think I ever got an autograph, but I’m pretty sure I never brought a real star home. I recall however, bringing more than one home that thought they were stars. You do know you can forgive yourself now? It’s been what? Over 20 years? We were young, we were gay, it was the 80’s. You can actually pull out that old game of Trivial Pursuit now without hesitation. Don’t worry, the newest edition doesn’t have a question about that night.

Jhnnny
March 29, 2011 at 1:54 pm

Mark, great story, cant wait to get the book. My freinds and I ran the gamut of Hollywood and West Hollywood back in the 80’s. We were young, hung and full of c..m, if you will. Many famous people, especially at back lot at Studio One! I remember the terrible fear of that gay cancer. Have fun on the cruise, you go boy!
Jhnnny

Thom
March 29, 2011 at 2:47 pm

Thx for sharing Marc. Thom in DC

Joey Wynn
March 29, 2011 at 2:48 pm

So well written, a dash of irreverence and humor. I am impressed at your brutal honesty, and hubris… Hopefully you have forgiven yourself and moved on about this. Thanks for a great read!

Sam
March 29, 2011 at 2:59 pm

Hi Mark. Like so many, I am sad that we have lost Elizabeth Taylor. She did so much for the gay community and for those living with AIDS. She cared about people. A true inspiration. As are you and those like you who have been speaking out for years about AIDS and related issues. Thank you.

Donna Gore
March 29, 2011 at 5:04 pm

Good story. Something piqued my curiosity – “gay restaurant.” I’ve heard of gay bars, gay gyms, and gay cruises, but never a gay restaurant! I guess it all depends on the clientele, huh?Well, they’re never exclusively gay — they don’t check your sexuality at the door — but usually have a bar and a mediocre menu. Ironically, gay restaurants, movies and TV shows are notoriously bad! — Mark

Jims_Whim
March 29, 2011 at 7:51 pm

Would you hate me for saying I’m still, rather jealously, starstruck my this tale?

Thanks for sharing. I’m having all of these uncomfortable (in a growth/improving way) flashbacks to an encounter I had in college. Two weeks after I had sex with one of my best friends, he dropped dead. I found out about two months later it had been AIDS that killed him. I was still DEEP in the closet and could tell no one.

I broke down at his funeral and damn-near had to be taken out in an ambulance. Every time his name was mentioned, for years, I died a little myself. Years later, I found out that most of my friends had made the assumption — based on my emotional state at the funeral — that ‘something’ had happened between my friend and me.

And HE wasn’t even a celebrity, let alone one of the sexiest men of Hollywood EVER! ; )

Rich
March 29, 2011 at 10:49 pm

Thanks for the memories Mark. I lived in Las Vegas in the 80’s and 90’s and visited L.A. often. I remember going to “gay” restaurants too and how wonderful it was to be able to hold hands or share a kiss over a nice dinner. I also remember Rock visiting the bath house when he was in Vegas. I saw him there one night but didn’t even try to get close to him. He had an entourage hot young men.

I also remember not wanting to know my status, for the reasons you mentioned but was tested, without my consent, when I went to the Dr. for swollen glands. I can hardly remember what I had for breakfast this morning but I remember the moment I was called with those results like it was yesterday. That was 1985.

Well, that did it. I finally ordered your book, Mark, because this beautifully written ghost story is haunting me with it’s pathos, humor, and self-reflection. You are a treasure.Ka-Ching! That’s another $1.29 for my fat pockets, folks. I’m glad you surrendered to my literary charms, Megan! — Mark

Not so sad and trivial after all, Mark; by writing about it you turned it into art that reaches people’s hearts and therefore has the potential to be transformative. Not bad.

Doug
April 4, 2011 at 8:51 am

OK- since you posed the question and never answered it….Was Rock Hudson as well hung as everyone said?I believe the word “awesome” is overused these days, don’t you? But not in this case, my friends. — Mark

Joe Blow
May 22, 2015 at 12:04 pm

So? Was he hung or not? This is an honest question.

(Honest, yes, but not a discreet one. The story isn’t, ultimately, about his dick, Joe. — Mark)

Joe Blow
May 22, 2015 at 11:53 pm

Thanks for the speedy reply. Although crude, it was a fairly honest, but jokingly low brow question. Either way, I found my answer on supposedly Mamie Van Doren’so Web page. Apparently, she had sex with the guy which led her to believe that he was at least bisexual. (We’ve got him back, boys!)

I’ve been thinking about this article all day due to my heightened interest in Rock Hudson. I found the TV movie of Hudson’s life I remember seeing a long, long, time ago. I’ve always remembered the first scene you see him in bed with another man.

I feel jealously and sympathy for this man. He lived a full life yet couldn’t ever be himself.

He was cool, looked great and had a way about him that I can’t describe. He was just cool.

I feel jealous because he lived a life I might not ever have. Money, women, lots of sex, fame.

There are home videos on YouTube of him from Labor day in 1965, and while silent, are fun to watch. Watch what he was like. What kind of person, etc. (I also find it interesting that in those videos you can see Anthony Perkins. Two Hollywood icons, at the same party, both at least bisexual who both succumbed to the same illness. They definitely banged).

If your story here is indeed true, having unprotected-or even protected sex with Rock, feeling anxious a couple years later would only be right. Although an extreme slap in the face to your lover.

I’m guessing this took place in 1979 or 1980? Given the game mentioned.

I wasn’t even born yet.

Just as well, KUDOS! You could very well be immune to HIV/AIDS. I always wonder about those who cheat the virus. Get your immune system tested. Seriously. How awesome would that be? Immune to one of the most deadly things on the planet that’s a billion times smaller than us.

But some mitigation…..Rock Hudson had a major blood transfusion at a hospital deep inside West Hollywood. I’ve been to West Hollywood. It’s gay as shit. Always has been. HIV/AIDS affects all shapes and sizes of all colors but let’s be honest, gents – it mostly affects men who have sex with men. There’s no getting around that poop sex is fairly dangerous, fellas. And his transfusion was in 1981. Given the time, the location, and the fact that blood wasn’t regulated the way it is now – the chance of him being infected there, by what would in today’s world be considered gross negligence, is quite likely. In fact, that’s PROBABLY where the infection took place…Being administered blood that was potentially in an advanced stage of the virus. Quite likely. Although, just as likely as The Hud venturing into a bathroom in the Castro district in the mid ’70s (given the incubation period of HIV into AIDS) for a quickie with someone he just met.

I like the feeling I get thinking of the former. It makes him more naive. Years of hard drinking and smoking, just going to a hospital to get help and look what happens.

The media, health organization and the like brand those with something like HIV/AIDS as unclean, creepy people. We’re almost brain washed to believe this partly because sometimes it’s true. How do you get HIV? By using drugs and having a lot of sex. Sex is supposed to be private and sacred. And when it isn’t – this can be the result.

But maybe in the whole grand show that is what was and is meant to be. AIDS is supposed to exist. And might always will. In this case, to solidify his legacy. As a pioneer for gays. As sad as that is, maybe succumbing to the worst fear of any person, dying of AIDS, is what had to be his end so he’ll live on forever. Especially with the stigma it’s attached to.

With that, I wonder about today’s youth. (Ironically, just a few hours ago I saw a tabloid about Brad Pitt and his apparent bisexuality).

Hollywood has got what? Rock and Freddie Merc? I find it hard to believe that those are the last two to be full blown gay dudes in the ‘wood. Can we just drop the act, please?

I wonder about what Rock succumb to. How the virus traveled for years, maybe hundreds of years – thousands, before entering his body.
All the walks of life it passed through, the hand shakes, the stained sheets it died on, the oxygen that killed it, the blood that revived it before it ended inside of Rock.

I also think it’s vaguely foolish to think Christian didn’t pass of a AIDS related illness. He HAD to of died of AIDS. He fucked Rock Hudson for months while Rock knew he was infected. They were lovers for God’s sake. Probably continually having unprotected sex, unprotected oral sex, etc.

Why can’t we just be honest? Why does the r truth hurt?

Hearing that Marc passed after ‘he began chain smoking in 1998 because of hearing about Sinatra’s passing’ was fairly ridiculous to read. However true, sending off with some miscellaneous illness was probably what he wanted rather than being publicized in the way that he was dooped in the worst way possible.

“Oh, no. I’m not sick, baby.” As he looks like the living face of death.

And I’ve almost never read of an AIDS related death that didn’t include the word ‘pulmonary’.

However, even if he WAS telling the truth I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw a lab tech take his blood.

Anyway, I don’t know where I’ve gone with this, so, I’ll leave with you banged Rock Hudson and lived to tell the story.

Thank you to you, Mr. King, and to anyone who read this entire rant. I hope wherever Rock is he has a scotch in his hand and is enjoying the next life.

Joe Blow
May 22, 2015 at 11:56 pm

I should mention my Perkins/Hudson comment is because they were both gay. They probably hooked up.

Not because they had AIDS.

kgandenberger
August 30, 2016 at 8:43 pm

by far, the most efficient way to contact HIV is receptive anal intercourse. most of my gay friends from the 1980’s that are still alive were “tops” during that period. several of them discussed it in my presence. hudson and perkins were lovers for a brief period, but may have contracted the virus from other individuals. the median time between infection and death is nearly 10 years in an otherwise healthy adult. you may draw your own time-lines. rocks’ transfusion was likely non-related.

(Your modes of transmission is correct — although one might argue that sharing needles is the most “efficient” route — and although the ten-year window you mention may have once been true, at least generally, those facts are far different today. People with HIV who are on treatment now live as long (or longer! because they have regular doctor visits) than anyone else. — Mark)

Thaddeus Buttmunch, MD
October 19, 2016 at 10:19 pm

As a Straight Internal Medicine Physician-these stories Fascinate (and at the same time-Sadden) me. One of the more Interesting aspects of the AIDS epidemic is that a Gay, mildly retarded, African American Teenager named Rayford came into the St. Louis Children’s Hospital with Weird symptoms and infections in around 1971. He Died, and his tissues were preserved. In the 1980s, with the AIDS epidemic Raging, one of his Doctors thought to check out the specimens, and-Lo and Behold-they were positive for AIDS. YET-the Pandemic didn’t really take off for years after his Death. An even MORE Fascinating-IMHO-case was that of a straight Norwegian Sailor who went to West African Prostitutes in around 1959-1961. He then had swollen lymph nodes and stubborn infections about ten years later. His Doctors made him “Better” for a while, but then he got Really Sick in 1974, and passed away in 1976. Sadly-his Wife and youngest daughter Died that same year. Again…when the AIDS Monster took off, one of his doctors remembered and checked All Three Specimens. BINGO-HIV+. What I find Truly Astounding, is how he could have gotten temporarily Better, when his physicians A) didn’t have a Clue what he Had and B) had No way of effectively treating the underlying cause. Parts of Africa are remote, so I can Well See that Prostitutes and their Johns could have been dying of years before anybody knew what was going on. But, STILL-this Sailor later became a truck driver and liked him his Fun with the European “Lot Lizards” (prostitutes.) I don’t Think he was Bisexual. Many Sailors-of Course-ARE. But WHY didn’t His behavior result in an Earlier Epidemic of the Disease??